Sunday, September 27, 2009

Waiting for Lucia

Her name was Lucia—she was Joyce’s daughterShe was talkative—illiterate in four languages:German, French, English & Triestine ItalianShe was cross-eyed like our mother NoraWas that why—she’d stare off into space?

Lucia was a true blue literary goddessInspiring, melding, sharing her personalityWith her great writer father—James JoyceUntil she ended up with “A Room of One’s Own”Only then was he able—to finish the Wake

“Devoutly to be wish'd.To die, to sleep; To sleep:perchance to dream: ay,there's the rub; For in thatsleep of death what dreamsmay come when we haveshuffled off this mortal coil”—William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Joyce’s eyesight failing—no longer able toCollage the cards—Beckett created for himBut still able to play the Wordplay gameBeginning Finnegan’s Wake—and ending itWith the same ideal literary insomnia …

Riverrun—running past Eve and AdamSwerving from shore—to bending bayPunning Vico—a commodius vicusReplaying the story over & over againBack to Howth Castle—and Enviorns